


HP Ficlets

by AirgiodSLV



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-16
Updated: 2007-05-11
Packaged: 2019-07-10 12:33:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15949436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AirgiodSLV/pseuds/AirgiodSLV
Summary: For my belovedsophrosyne31, currently bedridden and bereft.





	1. Many Faces

Ficlet for [](https://samena.livejournal.com/profile)[**samena**](https://samena.livejournal.com/), for whom the third time was the charm with a line from [Starry-Eyed](http://airgiodslv.dombillijah.com/stories/starryeyed.html), and who requested as her first choice Harry/Draco.

Fandom, this does not count as cheating. It's a promised ficlet. Besides, I had a dream.

Looking back, Harry imagines he’s had sex with Draco Malfoy roughly thirty times over the past year. Not that he’s actually had sex with _Malfoy_ , but everyone has a fantasy life, and Harry’s involves Polyjuice.

It doesn’t do anyone any harm to pretend, anyway, and with all of the intrigue surrounding him at all times, it’s easy to assume that every now and then, the person he hooks up with in a pub or a club isn’t actually the face he sees, or the body he enjoys. He’s the most recognizable wizard in Britain, it would be so easy to shapeshift in order to get close to him, try to learn his secrets while in the midst of the most intimate of acts.

He bites a little harder every time he remembers, thrusts a little deeper. And sometimes his partner fights back, rakes nails over his back and he thinks _yes_ , with a fierce joy that drives him over the edge before he ever expects to plummet. Sometimes he thinks he might be wrong, that the person he’s with acts just a little off; too tame, too yielding…but who can tell for certain? Malfoy is a good actor, and slippery as an eel. He must know that predictability could lead to capture.

Malfoy has always wanted him. Harry has no illusions about that. But they’re on opposite sides of a war, wrapped up in double-agents and spies and Merlin knows what else. Malfoy is at the top of Harry’s most wanted list, right after Voldemort himself. It’s not as if he can ever let Harry know it’s him.

Then Harry would have to kill him.


	2. Scars

Title: Scars  
Pairing: Harry/Draco  
Rating: PG-13  
Warnings: Vague spoilers for OotP

Draco’s skin was hot beneath his hands, burning, and his nipple peaked between Harry’s lips, hardening until it was firm enough for Harry to poke with his tongue, until Draco gasped. Harry was on fire in his own skin, and if he wasn’t inside Draco in the next few minutes, he felt sure he might explode.

“Drawer,” Draco bit off, his hands not ceasing to rove over Harry’s bare back. Harry almost yanked the drawer off its track in his haste, fumbling through an assortment of potions bottles, toiletries, and slim notebooks. He tore his mouth away from Draco’s to look for the small bottle that was eluding him, and his hand found something else instead.

For a moment he could only stare at the sleek black shaft in his hand, oily-looking and sharp. His breath was caught somewhere in his throat, skin suddenly chill, and his palms turned clammy, fingers clutched damply around the quill.

“What…?” Draco asked impatiently, clearly annoyed, levering himself up onto his elbows and frowning. His expression cleared when he saw what Harry was holding, and he lay back again, white blond hair fanning against the pillow.

“You can use it on me if you like,” he offered, and bile rose in Harry’s throat, nausea churning his stomach.

“ _Use_ it on you?” he cried, voice breaking in distress that he was barely aware of, fist clenching on the slick quill. “Do you know what this _is_? What it _does_?” He wanted to break the quill, snap it, throw it away and never see it in that drawer again; but suddenly he was fifteen again, and utterly powerless.

“Of course I do,” Draco answered, tone just short of condescending. “That’s why it’s in that…” His words stopped as he appeared to finally take in the look on Harry’s face, the whiteness of his clenched fist.

“Ah.” Draco was suddenly gentle, sitting up again and wrapping his own hands around Harry’s. “Potter, give me the quill.”

Harry’s hand opened convulsively, his eyes unfocused but still trained on the slender black shaft. He couldn’t seem to help the flinch when Draco took the quill, but Draco merely placed the instrument back in the drawer and shut it gently but firmly before turning back to Harry, sympathetic understanding in his eyes.

“I…” Harry said, but his mind was blank and his tongue felt thick in his mouth, too heavy to wield. Draco hushed him without words, taking Harry’s hands in his, warming them against the sudden cold.

“They aren’t usually used like that,” Draco said conversationally, but his hands were gentle on Harry’s skin, thumbs rubbing small circles of reassurance. “But they can be.”

Harry shivered, sick with memories. “You?” he asked, swallowing.

Draco nodded. “They do get their ‘point’ across, don’t they?” he said with a faint smile, one that Harry knew without looking didn’t reach his eyes. He shuddered further into Draco’s embrace, and closed his eyes while Draco simply held him for a while, one hand gently stroking his hair.

“We all have scars, Potter,” Draco whispered, breath tickling Harry’s ear softly. “All of us.”


	3. Resolution

Title: Resolution  
Pairing: Harry/Draco  
Rating: PG-13  
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.

He’d been Obliviated, of course. They all had, after the war, all the war criminals the Ministry could no longer contain because there were no Dementors to guard them, and not enough wizards who hadn’t lost kin, who could be trusted not to give in to the temptation of revenge. It was still a shock, to see old classmates on the street or in shops, without a flicker of recognition in their eyes. They cropped up in odd places, mostly working short-term jobs, scraping the bottom of the barrel because no one would hire them, although they’d never know the reason why. There was a strict statute in place, keeping those who remembered from sharing the past with those who had been made to forget.

Draco Malfoy tossed lank blond hair out of his eyes and offered up a come-hither look, and it was more than Harry could do not to stare. Malfoy took it for encouragement, spreading his legs slightly as he leaned back against the alley wall, tilting his head with the promise of a smirk teasing the corners of his mouth. “Two Galleons, hand or mouth,” he proclaimed easily. “Five to go all the way.”

Harry vividly remembered the last time he had felt that hair between his fingers, the last time he had traced the shell of that ear before lines had been drawn and sides had been chosen and Draco had disappeared without need of explanation. It was eerie, standing here with those eyes on him and knowing Malfoy remembered nothing, not who he was or who they were or what they _had_ been, and Harry felt his skin go clammy and hot-cold just thinking of it, and the last time he’d tasted Malfoy’s skin.

It would be wrong of him to take advantage of this, even if he could rationalize that at least he’d be ensuring Malfoy had enough money for a meal or two, and Harry wouldn’t rough him up the way his other...customers...might. It would be wrong because Harry still remembered their last time together, and their first, and even the perfect signature at the bottom of a letter he hadn’t needed to read, because he’d already known what it would say. Malfoy didn’t recall any of that, he wasn’t in possession of all of the facts. He didn’t have the choice to say no, even if he actually did. And this, no matter how good it might feel in the moment, would all be a lie, because to Malfoy it would mean nothing.

Malfoy tipped his head back, exposing his throat and letting his eyelids droop, hands flexing against the wall at his sides. “I’ll let you go for three if you want me to top,” he murmured, and Harry heard his breath rushing in his own ears, loud and hot.

It was wrong, sick and wrong.

“Five then,” he heard himself say. “Let’s do this thing properly.”


	4. airgiodslv

Whoops, this one accidentally turned into a ficlet.

[Achilles didn't have to put up with this shit](http://airgiodslv.livejournal.com/235851.html?thread=2720331#t2720331) \- Harry/Draco, title by [](https://cupiscent.livejournal.com/profile)[**cupiscent**](https://cupiscent.livejournal.com/).

Voldemort is dead. Harry staged a dramatic and heroic rescue in order to save Draco (at no little personal risk to himself!) and they were supposed to live happily ever after, a _normal_ life, nice and quiet with their own flat and dinner parties with guests bringing bottles of wine and a little loveseat where they could curl up and watch movies on the telly.

Instead...well, all right, he supposes that their life is more or less normal, at least as far as wizards go, but couldn't Draco show...you know, a little more appreciation now and then? Harry saved the wizarding world, couldn't Draco put the cap on the toothpaste? Does he really have to berate Harry every time he does something Draco doesn't approve of, like spend an entire day watching football or wear the same socks for three days straight?

And furthermore, could he stop writing those little notes, addressed to those pet names Draco finds so amusing (Harry most definitely does not), like "Speccies" and "Bum Boy" and "Harem Slave" entreating - no, _ordering_ Harry to take care of mundane things like buying groceries and doing the laundry and paying the electric bill?

Harry has accomplished everythng he was meant to do in his life. He's practically in retirement. He saved his boyfriend - with a cringe at that thought, because it's really a horrible word - from Agonizing Torture and Certain Death. Couldn't Draco bring him breakfast in bed and fawn over him once in a while? Not that he wants to be a hero, that's not it. He doesn't want to be treated any differently, it's part of what attracted him to Draco in the first place. But still, even so...would it kill Draco to express his appreciation with a few early-morning blowjobs?

Seriously. He's sure Achilles didn't have to put up with this shit.


	5. Point, Game and Match

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my beloved [](https://sophrosyne31.livejournal.com/profile)[sophrosyne31](https://sophrosyne31.livejournal.com/), currently bedridden and bereft.

Title: Point, Game and Match  
Pairing: Draco/Harry  
Rating: PG  
Disclaimer: This is a complete work of fiction, no disrespect intended.  
Notes: For my beloved [](https://sophrosyne31.livejournal.com/profile)[**sophrosyne31**](https://sophrosyne31.livejournal.com/), currently bedridden and bereft.

“What happened?” Theodore asked with interest as his housemates made their way across the grass to the tree he was reading beneath.

“Draco tore a ligament,” Blaise answered calmly, his tennis racket cocked over one shoulder as he strolled alongside Draco, who was staggering along dramatically with the concerned support of Pansy.

“It hurts!” Draco wailed. “I shall never play tennis again!”

“Let me fix it for you,” Pansy pleaded as Draco let go of her and lost his balance, arms windmilling out of control before he collapsed against the tree trunk. “I told you I could do the spell.”

“Don’t touch me!” Draco cried, warding her off with one arm as she tried again to assist him. “I won’t have my person violated by untrained spells. I have very sensitive tendons.”

“We’d better get you to the infirmary, then,” Blaise said with a sigh.

Draco sniffed. “I’m not going to Pomfrey. She hates me, and besides, she smells like oysters. I refuse to be tended by a woman who reeks of shellfish.”

“Poor darling!” Pansy exclaimed. Blaise rolled his eyes and Draco nobly ignored him.

“This is all your fault,” Draco pointed out, one long, thin finger stabbing accusingly in Blaise’s direction. “You hit the ball too far over, I had to dive for it.”

“Draco, that’s the point of tennis,” Blaise pointed out. Draco drew breath to object, but was interrupted by the arrival of Harry Potter, looking slightly more rumpled than usual in his Quidditch leathers and wielding a broomstick.

“Is everything all right?” he asked, pausing in his journey across the grounds.

Draco pulled himself upright in moral outrage. “No, Potter, everything is _not_ all right. I’m injured! Possibly fatally! There’s a chance I’ll never be able to walk again!”

Blaise made a sound that suggested Draco was perhaps exaggerating slightly. Harry frowned at Draco and shifted his broomstick a bit. “Did you fall?” he asked.

“No, I did not fall. I was playing _tennis_ , you imbecile. There are other sports than Quidditch, you know,” Draco stated vehemently, plucking at his sweater. “And this is clearly a tennis ensemble.”

“He tore a ligament,” Blaise interjected smoothly. Draco scowled at him and crossed his arms over his chest, showing all the warning signs of being about to settle into a good sulk.

Harry considered for a moment and then shrugged. “I have some ointment, if you want it,” he offered.

Draco stared for a moment and then scoffed. “From you? You must be joking. It’s probably some Muggle alchemist’s concoction. My limbs are far too delicate to be slathered with your filthy oinkment.”

Harry shrugged and turned to continue on his way. “Suit yourself.”

As he started to walk away, however, Draco caught sight of Harry’s arse in his tight-fitting Quidditch leathers and decided to reconsider. After all, it was a Malfoy’s duty to turn every situation to its advantage. “Wait!” he cried, doing a good impression of a swoon. “The pain is too great, I am in no condition to argue.”

Harry eyed him skeptically. Draco raised one hand to his forehead and closed his eyes, forehead wrinkling in agony. His lip trembled a bit. “You may use your Muggle potion, but only if you apply it yourself. For all I know, it could be a contact poison.”

Harry rolled his eyes and Draco loftily pretended not to notice. “You want me to rub it on your leg?” Harry asked doubtfully.

“I was thinking more of a soothing massage,” Draco corrected. “You’ll have to carry me, of course,” he added. “I’m in no condition to walk.”

“Malfoy…” Harry began suspiciously. Draco let out an agonized moan for effect and slumped back against the tree trunk. Harry sighed, shifted his weight, and finally shrugged in agreement. “All right. But no funny business, like hexing me while I can’t defend myself. The wand stays in your sleeve.”

“Of course,” Draco replied meekly.

Harry gave him one more wary look and sighed. “All right, let’s go.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow. Draco waited until Harry stooped to set his broom down and gave his fellow Slytherins a smug smile.

“To the potion!” he cried dramatically, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry grunted and managed to stagger upright.

Draco sighed contentedly and placed one hand on Harry’s chest. Next week, he thought, he might just have to break an arm.


	6. Chapter 6

"Yes." Draco wrapped one leg around Harry's back, trying to somehow crawl up the wall so that Harry's mouth would be subsequently lower and closer to his throbbing cock. "Oh, fuck. Yes, fuck, _god_."

"Could you just be quiet?" Harry interrupted, tone more annoyed than Draco could take in right now, as he was floating on bliss and the feeling of Harry's tongue on his nipple.

Draco yanked on his hair and tried once again to shove him downward. This whole slowly-moving-south-foreplay was not something he approved of. "Mouth. Cock. _Fuck_ ," added as Harry bit the inside of his thigh, not at all playful but Draco's cock seemed to enjoy it anyway. He tried once again to levitate himself wandlessly up the wall, a feat which involved a great deal of scrabbling at the plaster and not a lot of actual upward mobility.

"Shut. Up," Harry countered, but at least his mouth was in the right place now, Draco could tell because every word sent warm air puffing across sensitive areas. He drummed his heel on Harry's back and silently implored him to take the hint.

" _FUCK_."

Harry did.


	7. Chapter 7

It was with a certain amount of shock that Severus first realized his favourite pupil (annoying and snotty as he might be, the boy was actually quite bright) was gay. This was not due to any aversion to the gay population or to a Pureblood turning fey and destroying his ancient and vaunted bloodline, but was more a horrified reaction to the fact that Draco Malfoy was lusting after - of all people - Harry Potter.

The fact that in order to ensure both of them survived the war Severus himself would have to capitalize on that attraction was so appalling that he couldn't think about it for long.

Draco himself was easy to influence. He was already enamoured of everyone's favourite boy hero, for reasons Severus could not, would not, and did not care to contemplate, and he looked up to Severus with a hero worship entirely appropriate for their respective stations.

The problem, rather, lay with Potter.

Potter was not at all easily influenced, was oblivious to feelings or desires beyond knowing when he was hungry and acting peevishly out of sorts with everyone at all times, and his personal feelings for Severus were anything but appropriately respectful. Indeed, he was a thorn in Severus' side and the one thing that seemed to be keeping the youngest (and probably last, considering the way he kept looking at Potter) Malfoy from fully committing to the side of goodness and light and other things which normally Severus sneered at and deemed Hufflepuff.

He had no other recourse. He went to Lupin.

"It has come to my attention," he announced, lofty dignity drawn around him to keep Lupin from getting any ideas about poking fun at how low Severus was stooping right now for the cause, "that Malfoy and Potter would make a rather interesting..." The word caught in his mouth, tried to turn to dust and choke him to keep him from spitting it out, but he perservered. "Couple."

Lupin looked up from his book, a faint and entirely unnecessary smile tugging up the corners of his crooked lips. "Oh yes?" he replied rather inanely, sliding a bookmark between worn pages and setting the tome aside. "Tea?"


End file.
